


Star-Crossed Disasters

by sunflowersandsunshining



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, before the game, deadend jobs, heavy au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-15 20:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowersandsunshining/pseuds/sunflowersandsunshining
Summary: Sebastian wasn’t your typical knight in shining armor.Mostly because he picked wizard.Heavy AU: Before coming to Stardew Valley, Sebastian is stuck in a corporate job that doesn’t pay the bills and living with a dad that can’t support him.Sebastian has lived with his father ever since his parents divorced when he was only a child, moving straight to Zuzu city after the separation. He’s never been to Pelican town, nor does he want to go. But he needs something to change, fast, or else he’ll crash into his dead end.Enter Josephine. A girl who’s ready to turn his life on its head.





	1. Deadlines, Whiskey, and a Motorcycle

Imagine the smell of piss, hot computers, and the most socially awkward people imaginable all shoved into a den of densely packed cubicles.

That was Sebastian’s life. 

It started that morning when his boss stormed into his office - cubicle, really, but Seb liked to flatter himself sometimes - and demanded to see what he was working on.

“Work.” Sebastian replied calmly, his slender fingers fast at work on his computer. He was a programmer: an expert in his field, he could write and perfect a string of code in minutes, his skills honed after a brilliant high school career and early entry into the field.

“Work!” the manager exclaimed, face red, cheeks puffed. “I know work when I see it, and that’s not it!”

The sound of keyboard keys clacking halted for a quick moment, before swiftly resuming. “Look,” the programmer turned his screen towards his boss, eyes low. “Satisfied?” 

“Hah! Well, at least you’re in your cubicle for once.” 

Sebastian stopped typing, again, and looked up from his glaring computer screen, only to find his manager chewing his lip, smug smile on his face. 

He didn't miss the accusation in his manager's words - ice settled in his gut. "Where else would I be?" Sebastian asked dryly, as nonchalantly as he could muster.

"Oh, figured you'd be making another trip to the cooler," the man said, chuckling lightly as if it were a joke. "Feels like you've been there more often than not lately."

For a moment, all Sebastian could do was balk. He felt the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead in his brain, setting his teeth on edge.

"No more than anyone else. It's hot, sir."

His manager raised a brow and hummed, nodding as if even considering Sebastian's words. "Yet you're the only one in danger of not making your deadline." His words shot daggers at him, as if it were a dare - the question was, would he take it? 

It seemed like every cubicle around them went silent. His manager was still smiling, saccharine sweet under the grease covering his face.  
Sebastian worked his jaw, rebellion festering in his stomach as he huffed a humorless chuckle. "You mean for the project you gave me yesterday with no notice? With a deadline three days away?"

“Well, either way,” he responded, faux friendliness drained from his face. “Make sure you hurry it along, will you?”

Fuck off.

It wasn’t uncommon for these types of encounters to happen a few times a week. Being on a computer all day had its perks, he knew that - but it also had drawbacks, and being a young man with a tendency to rebel didn’t help the rapport between him and his managers. 

And Sebastian hated it. Every fake smile, every office holiday, every trip to that damn cooler and every trip back. It all dripped with corporate slime that crawled into the spaces between his bones and pulled him down, like a black hole pulling its prey - except he wasn’t celestial, only hollow, bleak, and dark. He needed a drink.

Another trip to the water cooler, then.

It could never replace the sweet burn of whiskey down his throat, but he would take any excuse to get away from that sticky keyboard. 

If he could, he’d quit - he’d go freelance, forget it all, and never look back. He’d get his own place, stop staying with his dad, and never fucking look back.

He clocked out. His mouth still felt like chalk, thirst ripping his throat apart. The roar of his motorcycle’s engine hummed in his body as he rode straight to the local mart; he needed a drink. 

God, it was like he was a rat. A plagued rat trapped in a frozen cage, his diseased body turning slowly into ice, too proud to ask for help but too weak to break the bars. He was going to die here, he thought - in this shithole of a city, basically alone, with nothing to show for it.

He almost started crying in the middle of Joja Mart.

Only almost, though. He had learned the fine art of stuffing his feelings down a long, long time ago, and to this day, he had never figured out how to undo his work. 

He plucked a bottle of vodka off the shelf and laid it in his basket, which was already full of junk food, a delicate tool for destroying his body: chips, cookies, cola. Maybe he’d finally tap out and have a heart attack.  
It wasn’t like he wanted necessarily to die. Dying was too violent. The only death he had dreams of was full of grandeur, of slaying a dragon with his own body, breaking down at the end of battle in the afterglow of glory - but they didn’t exist. That kind of death didn’t happen in real life. 

Instead, he craved escape. Disappearing, leaving, whatever it took to get away from his frozen little cage. Even if it meant death.

Maybe he was already dead.

He had such beautiful visions of the city when he was a child.

It was a shining figure in his vision, bright like his future and teeming with life, sure to revive his long-dead heart. It was supposed to be aisles and streets and roads full of buildings of marble and granite, cool stone on a hot summer night; polished and sparkling, bright like a star. 

Cosmic - that was the word, he thought. It was going to be his new horizon, full of potential, a vast galaxy to explore, with planets to conquer, and people to befriend. Maybe he still had that vision. 

But in reality, it wasn’t. 

No, it was far from that. 

Zuzu City was a shithole. It always has been, and it always will be.

He didn’t notice his body shaking. He thought it was his motorcycle’s engine thrumming under his weight, vibrations made by a mechanical process - not him, it was never him.

The ride back was quiet. 

He needed a drink. 

Home.

Well, he wasn't sure it could be called that. He hadn’t ever felt at home at that apartment.

House.

The door creaked open, old lock clicking at the turn of Sebastian’s key. 

“Hey.” His throat was hoarse, dry. “I’m back.”

“Hello.” His father’s voice called from deeper in the apartment, muffled by the sound of the TV blaring. “How was work?”

“Fine,” the programmer lied before he quickly disappeared into his room, small talk fulfilled for the day. 

Being close to a parent - or anyone, really - was a pipe dream of his. Sebastian imagined it’d be full of movie nights, shared dinners, inside jokes; support, a beam under his wings, a nurse to mend him. 

It was forever out of his reach. His mother lived far away with some new man and their daughter, and despite her efforts, the mother-son bond had long since been destroyed. His blood father’s relationship had been strained, too, ever since Sebastian decided to skip college - and it was only growing worse with the burden of adulthood. 

He never blamed them. It was probably a defect with him, he thought. That’s why Mom remarried. To try again. 

The plastic bag crumpled into a heap on the dark-leather chair by his door, dropped on its head by its owner. He barely cared if the bottle inside cracked. Just gave him more reason to drink it. 

He settled onto his couch, stuffing his nose into another visual-novel. They were his escape - another world, where he could be a better version of himself - a version where he wasn’t himself at all. 

_“This is my hole. It was made for me.”_ the words on the page swam in front of him, dragging themselves against his skull like bloodied claws. 

“Me too,” he mused, tracing the pictures with his fingers. “Me too.” 

His eyes drooped, his gaze flickering over to the LED clock on his bed stand. 1:03 AM. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep.


	2. Chance Encounter

The next few days were a living hell.

On Monday, Sebastian had barely put down his bag when his manager waltzed into his cubicle, shit-eating grin plastered to his greasy face.

Without prompting, his boss started to speak; “I took a big risk taking you on, you know. Country boy with no degree? With _that_ hair? My bosses thought I'd gone and lost my Yoba-loving mind, but know what? I stood up for you. And now you've almost been here a year!” He clapped one of his massive hands on Sebastian's shoulder, nearly toppling him out of his desk chair. “Now's the time to show 'em just what I was talking about, I'd say.”

His manager soon dropped his hand, and Sebastian wondered if it was because the piece of shit could feel the rage broiling inside him. “My mother’s from the country. Not me, sir.” The last word came out like steel on ice, voice low, disgust evident in his tone. 

“You’ll have to stay late, it looks like,” his boss continued, unflinching at Sebastian’s words. “We have a cot in the back. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

Seething. Sebastian’s blood felt like fire, coursing through his veins and burning him alive, but yet, he didn’t care. All his mental power was being used to not rip this man to shreds, right then and there.

“Yes, sir.” 

Every ounce of willpower he could muster was put into those two little words. 

“Good boy.”

Like a dog.

The first chance he got, he took a smoking break.

He was entitled to them, by law - he was going to use every one of those fifteen minutes to its fullest.

Flick, flick. His lighter flicked open, a flame fluttered to life, lighting his cigarette before dying as quickly as it lived. Huh. Relatable. 

He took a long drag, smoke filling his lungs, a haze lining his head. His breathing slowed, then his heart followed - soon his mind became a dull thrum, humming in tune to his inhales. 

Calm.

He knew it was killing him. He couldn’t run before he started smoking, but now, he could barely even walk more than a few minutes without feeling winded. 

And, as with everything else in life, he didn’t care.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

The feeling of his phone’s vibrations pulled him down from his high, grounding him back into reality. He was back in the designated smoking area, cigarette butts snuffed out around him, brick walls gone black and lungs coughed out, lives lived dangerously close to the line of death.

The rest of his day was uneventful, full of trips to the water cooler, and, by the end, his fingers felt like lead under his palms.

“Done.” he mumbled proudly. It was 4:59 PM, and he had just finished his project, somehow. 

He didn’t know how he did it, himself. Was it out of spite, skill, or something else? 

He clocked out. The hum of his motorcycle growled under him, and this time, he decided he needed a treat - some real liquor. Not that cheap Joja shit.

The bar welcomed him like his own best friend. If he had one.

He planted himself onto his usual seat, fingers tapping on the wooden-plastic counter subconsciously. It was like he didn’t even leave work. 

“The usual?” the bartender huffed at him.

“Yeah.”

A glass of whiskey slid towards Sebastian. He gladly accepted it, taking long, labored sips from his cup.

He was content to stay there, drowned in his own little world, burning throat and hazy mind. 

But then she walked in.

A girl, around his age, brunette; he had seen her around, but never really had the guts to talk to her. He wasn’t one for talking, anyways.

“Yo!” the girl called. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothing.” he responded gruffly, making sure to accentuate the period at the end. Closed sentence - nothing to add.

“Well, you look kinda sad. Are you good?” she asked, sitting down next to him with a satisfied _thump._

“Did I ask?” He didn’t quite mean for his voice to snap. But it did - it cut like a knife, and she was his unsuspecting victim. 

It’s not that he wanted to be unfriendly. But small talk made his insides twist, sickly bile seeping through his veins as he wiggled his way out of it.

“Oh… I see. Have a good night.” she said gently, vanishing back into the bustling background noise. 

Shit.

She was nicer than he thought.

But yet, he watched her leave, taking another sip from his glass like it didn’t even happen.

It was absolutely bizarre. The thought of that girl wouldn’t leave his mind, even days after it happened. It was a parasite, attaching itself to his brain and eating away at it, occasionally stopping to whisper sweet nothings into his ear before taking another bite.

“Yo!” it called into his ear. “Hey, what’s up?”

What _was_ up? In those words, he found hours of material to chew on; what was his problem? Was it the anxiety? The depression? Or maybe the dead-end job that gave him grey hairs at the ripe old age of 24? 

It didn’t help that he had, in the words of Demetrius, daddy issues. His stepfather had meant it in the nicest way possible, he assured him - but it didn’t stop the sting from burning his heart into two pieces.

He knew where this rabbit hole went. No, not now. Not here. 

“Ah, there you are, country boy!”

He was brought out of his thoughts by his manager’s voice, smug and self-approving. He wrangled a sigh from escaping his mouth, instead replying in his calmest voice: “Yes?”

“I see you’re cutting back on the water cooler time!” he laughed. Was that supposed to be a joke? “Oh, and I saw that you handled your last project with ease. Good job!” Seb could smell his breath from his seat. 

Sebastian grit his teeth. “Thank you, sir.”

“So, lucky you! I have another job for you.” 

“Yeah?” Sebastian replied in a low voice.

“Yeah!” He could see yellow teeth poking out of his boss’s mouth, crooked and out of place. “Now, you might have to work overtime again…”

“Okay.”

“I sent you an email with the details. Now, make us proud, country boy!”

“Not from the country, sir.” He tried to protest, but his voice was too small to be heard. Instead, his manager gave him a thumbs-up before walking out of his office, and, thankfully, took his stench with him. 

Another trip to Joja Mart, then. 

As soon as he clocked out, he rode to that damned store, and piled bottles upon bottles into his basket until it was too heavy to carry. 

The manager knew him by name. They didn’t need to card him anymore, he frequented that particular shop so much. 

“Hey, Sebastian,” the young man at the register said, skillfully bagging his copious amount of alcohol. “Buying the goods for a party tonight?” the man laughed. 

“Sure,” he responded brusquely, jamming his card into the reader roughly. Beep, beep. 

Approved.

He finally allowed that sigh to escape his lips, but this time, it was blissful, calm. He took his shit and left, barely giving the cashier another look. 

“Hey, I’m home,” Seb called as he opened the front door to his house. “Dad?”

“Hey, yeah, how was work?” His father called, TV quieter than usual today.

“Good.” 

“Hey, wait.” 

His usual routine of a retreat back into his room was broken by the unfamiliar words. It was weird; Dad never called him over like that.

“Yeah?” Sebastian swung his head around, plopping his body down onto the couch next to his dad and in front of the now muted TV.

“I have to talk to you.”

Ice rose in his gut, sending frozen spikes throughout his bloodstream. His body went ice cold at those words.

“Y… yeah?” he mumbled in response, back straightening behind him. His spine cracked. Both of them heard it.

“I need cash.”

The programmer rolled his eyes, a snort emerging from his throat. “Oh.”

“It’s not much. Just… 1000g, maybe?” His father wouldn’t look him in the eye. 

“That’s a week’s pay.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad…” the older man said weakly. 

“I didn’t budget for it.” Seb could barely feel his fingertips. Awkward couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt in that moment - sadness and discomfort mixed in his stomach, a pit forming and overtaking his entire torso. Black hole - but not celestial - only icy, bloodcurdling, sharp.

“Please, Sebby.” The nickname was like shattered pieces of glass in his brain, pieces that his father just had to claw at and dig back up, nearly-healed scars that he just had to pick at.

“Fine.” Seb sighed. “Fine, I’ll transfer it tonight.”

“Thank you, son.”

The younger man quickly withdrew to his room, dragging his gallons of liquor behind him. His door slammed behind him before he threw the bottles down, settled onto his bed and shoved his face into another visual novel.   
He needed escape.

Vodka in one hand, horror manga in the other. _“Spirals.... this town is contaminated with spirals.”_

Well, it wasn’t the best place to run away to. But in those pages, those terrible, nightmarish pages, he found a small piece of peace. His life wasn’t that bad. His life wasn’t that terrible, it wasn’t that scary, it wasn’t that horrific. 

Maybe he was going to be okay.

Well, at least, he wasn’t tearing his face off to become young again. 

Yet.


End file.
